


There's Nothing to It

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think we would have been friends?"  "You mean if we weren't brothers?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Nothing to It

"Do you think we would have been friends?" The words are out of Sam's mouth no sooner than he thinks them, and his face immediately heats up with embarrassment. It's late, he and Dean are in separate beds, and Sam's staring at the dark ceiling, but even still he swears he can feel Dean turn a condescending look his way.

 

Dean starts to say something, probably _What the hell are you talking about?_ , but Sam cuts him off with a clipped, "Nevermind," and turns so that his back is facing Dean's bed, clutching the scratchy motel blanket to his chest.

 

Sam expects Dean to drop it and just write it off as Sam being the moody teenager that he knows Dean thinks he is, but after a minute of tense silence, Sam hears Dean get out of his bed. The mattress under Sam dips as Dean kneels onto it. The heat from Dean's palm warms Sam's hip, even through the blanket and his sleeping pants.

 

When Dean says, "You mean if we weren't brothers?", his breath puffs against the back of Sam's neck, and it knocks a shiver loose down his spine that almost distracts Sam from the way it feels that Dean knows him so well. Sam doesn't respond at first, but eventually, he nods against his pillow jerkily.

 

_Would we be friends if we weren't brothers? If you hadn't been practically brainwashed into looking after me? Would you still sneak into my bed and touch me? Would you still think I was a freak?_

 

Sam's tired. He doesn't trust himself not to blurt out any of the questions floating around in his head if he opens his mouth, so he keeps it shut. Not that that’s ever deterred Dean when he’s going after something he wants.

 

Dean presses a kiss to Sam’s neck, open-mouthed and wet and quick, and Sam’s fists clench the blanket tighter.

 

“Dunno, Sammy,” Dean murmurs. “Depends, I guess.”

 

“On what?” And, fuck, it’s embarrassing how his voice is already thin and breathless. Dean hasn’t even done anything yet. 

 

Dean pulls back suddenly, but before Sam can say anything to protest, Dean's lifting the other edge of the blanket up and sliding underneath it with Sam. Sam tries not to sigh audibly as he sinks back against his brother's frame, but going from the way Dean laughs quietly when he snakes one arm over Sam's waist, he doubts he was successful.

 

"Depends on if you'd be able to resist my stunning good looks." He kisses Sam's neck again, and dips his fingers underneath the waistband of his boxers and pants so that his fingers are just resting on the warm skin of Sam's hip, and he's so distracted that he can't remember for a second what the hell Dean's talking about. Dean grazes his teeth against the skin that joins Sam's neck and his shoulder, and when Sam's body jolts like he's been electrocuted, the hand that had been gently resting on his hip clamps down hard and pins him to the spot. Sam can already tell there are going to be bruises tomorrow.

 

"Would you, Sammy?"

 

Christ, what the hell are they even talking about, again? "Would I-  _oh_ \- would I what?" Dean nips harder at Sam's neck now and thrusts his hips against Sam's; their pants are thin enough that Sam can feel the hard line of Dean's cock pressing hot and thick against his ass. He feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Dean hand slips suddenly lower, lower, and Sam's so hard it hurts and he doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than he wants Dean's hand on his dick, like, five minutes ago.

 

"Would you be able to be  _friend_ _s_ with me, Sammy? Think you could do what none of those small-town girls could, huh?" Finally,  _finally,_ Dean's hand closes around the base of Sam's dick and he gives him one slow, teasing stroke that makes Sam cry out weakly. It's a damn good thing Dad's out of town for this hunt, because there's no fucking way Sam would have been able to keep quiet for this. "I don't think you could. I think all I'd have to do is give you one smile and look you up and down and you would have spread these long, pretty legs for me at the drop of a hat. So- fuck, Sammy- so fucking easy." And there's not like there's anything Sam can say to that, not when he's been hard since he felt Dean's weight dipping the mattress, not when he's about to come after thirty seconds of Dean's mouth at his ear and Dean's hand on his cock.

 

"Think you'd do that, Sammy? Think you'd take one look at the older boy from out of town and bend over for him in the library?"

 

Sam can't do anything now except for moan and try not to make the little embarrassing whimpers that Dean teases him about, he never can muster up what he wants to say when Dean's talking to him like, this, but he wants to. Wants to say  _Yes_ and  _Please_ and wants to tell him that he used to jerk off with two fingers in his ass wishing that Dean would smirk at him the way he smirked at pretty senior girls across the Midwest, but all he can do is turn his head desperately and try and kiss Dean so that at least they're on even ground.

 

Dean kisses him back messily, rocking his dick against Sam too fast for anything neat or close-mouthed, and Sam's whimpering into Dean's mouth despite his best efforts. When Dean starts to stroke Sam faster, harder, twisting his wrist at the head, Sam feels like he's going to explode. Dean groans, "Come on, Sammy, want you to come, wanna see it," Sam goes off like a rocket, shuddering apart against Dean's chest and grinding his hips back until Dean starts whispering  _Fuck, Sam, fuck, shit,_ into Sam's hair and his hips stutter and still against Sam's ass.

 

Sam can't think, can't say anything, can't do much at all except try and catch his breath, but at least Dean's not doing much more, either. He waits for Dean to say something, even though he never does, and eventually Sam's breathing evens out and he feels himself slipping into unconsciousness. Dean's body is like a furnace against his back, and Dean's lips feel like they're burning when he kisses Sam's neck one more time.

 

When Dean says, "Sam," he still sounds out of breath. Sam's tired enough that he feels smug about it, and burrows backwards, further into Dean's body heat. "It's you, y'know?" Sam doesn't know, doesn't remember what Dean's talking about. "It's not because we're- it's because you're Sam." 

 

Sam remembers then, all of a sudden, and that feeling is back, filling his chest and shaking him to his core because Dean knows him better than anyone else in the entire world, can read him like an open book. Using the last of his energy, Sam mumbles, "Me too," before he falls asleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in so long and this is barely a thousand words of unedited weecest I'm so sorry


End file.
